


Do You Wanna Touch

by vulpixel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, First Time, Holding Hands, Laundry, Mutual Masturbation, Post-Time Skip, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Education
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 03:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30099324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpixel/pseuds/vulpixel
Summary: Ingrid does their laundry at 3am in hopes that no one else would show up (they were wrong)
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Mercedes von Martritz
Kudos: 14





	Do You Wanna Touch

**Author's Note:**

> its mostly rated E because i wrote clit so many times

The washroom is quiet this time of night. Ingrid quietly scrubs at their dirty laundry. The clean clothes sit in a clumped pile next to them. The floor gets wet, soaking their shoes in the process. They do not care. They just want their laundry to be done. Footsteps catch their attention. They whip around to see Mercedes. She holds a piece of cloth in her hands. The two make eye contact, and Ingrid cringes.

"What are you doing up so late?" Mercedes asks curiously, "Couldn't sleep?"

"I'm doing my laundry," Ingrid answers simply. They nonchalantly submerge the pair of underwear they were scrubbing to hide it.

"This late at night?"

"I don't like being interrupted."

"Or maybe you just don't want someone seeing your dirty underwear," Mercedes says bluntly. She smiles innocently, and Ingrid forgets how to breathe.

"That's not it at all." They blush deeply. _How did she know?_

"Are you sure? You're awfully red in the face. Would you rather I say panties?"

"Please don't," Ingrid wheezes. They scrub their laundry harder in a sad attempt at releasing their pent up emotions.

"Then, I will stop saying panties since the word ‘panties’ seems to make you so uncomfortable. However, I fail to see why. It's just an article of clothing."

"But one that is meant to be private."

"Aw, but now I'm curious what your panties look like! Let me see them." Mercedes walks over, sending Ingrid into shock. They resist the urge to scream in terror.

"You don't need to see them!" They squeak.

"I'll show you mine. Then, we'll be even."

"That will hardly be necessary!"

"Oh, Ingrid, there's nothing to be embarrassed about! C’mon! Let me see them!"

"Mercedes!"

She dunks her hands into the wash bin and pulls out a soaked pair of underwear. Soap drips down her hands. She seems too delighted with herself to even notice.

"How cute! I love the little green ribbon. Quite simple. Maybe a little drab, but very fitting for you. Literally."

"Yes. They are," Ingrid says, not so secretly dying from embarrassment. They resist the urge to dive into the wash bin. "Those are my panties- I mean underwear. Now may I please have them back?”

"Well, I saw yours, so I'll show you mine." Mercedes tosses Ingrid’s panties-sorry- underwear back into the water. She then grabs at the hem of her pants.

Ingrid leaps up, not remotely prepared for what comes next. "Mercedes, please-"

It is too late. Her pants are gone. Mercedes slides them down, struggling over her thighs, and tosses them aside without a care in the world. Ingrid is left with a generous view of, well, _everything_. Their heart nearly gives out, and a heat builds up in the pit of their stomach that desperately begs to be quelled. They dig their nails into their thigh to combat the feeling. It does little to help.

"Now, we're even. You may go back to your clothes washing now." Mercedes smiles brightly and turns back to return to her own work.

Looking up was a mistake. Seeing Mercedes from the front is one thing, but seeing her from the back nearly knocks Ingrid unconscious. Mercedes bends over to put her pants back on. The sight is too much. Her ass is too large. Ingrid fights the urge to scream, simultaneously drawing blood from digging their nails into their skin. It does little to help the raging hormones inside them. They have no idea how to handle themselves. and they certainly cannot concentrate enough to go back to washing their clothes. The only way out seems to be death. Even then, Ingrid is not sure they can escape.

Instead, they dare look up at Mercedes. Luckily, the woman is still fully clothed. She leans over the sink, grabbing her cloth and unwrapping it. Caught with curiosity, Ingrid watches intently, trying to make out what the object could possibly be. They cannot quite identify it; this object is something they have never seen before. It looks about as long as a dagger, but it is certainly not a blade. It flattens out at the bottom, and as Mercedes holds it, Ingrid cannot help but find it particularly… phallic. Curiosity gets the better of them.

"What is that?" Ingrid asks.

Mercedes looks over her shoulder. She furrows her brow in confusion. "A sink?"

"No. The thing you're washing."

"Ah! Well, it's certainly not my panties. Although, I do need to wash those too." She turns around to show off her item. It is phallic in nature, but colored strangely. "It's just a dildo. I always make sure to wash it right after I use it."

Ingrid stares at her blankly. "What?"

"Oh, honey, do you not wash your dildo regularly? You should be washing it after every use. As well as peeing to make sure you do not risk an infection. Oh, dear. Maybe I should speak to the professor about a sex ed class. If Byleth even knows what sex is. I’ll ask Manuela.”

A sex ed class during a time of war? Ingrid does not want to even begin having that discussion. Instead, they are absolutely baffled by everything Mercedes just told them.

"I don't have a, uh, whatever you just said," they say confusedly.

"You don't own a dildo?"

"I don't even know what that is."

"You don't know what a dildo is?" Mercedes quickly grows concerned.

Ingrid shakes their head. "I've never seen such a thing. What use does it have?"

"Oh! Ingrid, dear, I didn't know you were such a prude. Not that that's a bad thing, but I do think you owe it to yourself to have a little fun with yourself every once in a while."

"Fun? With myself?"

"Masturbating, Ingrid.” She punctuates her statement with a very lewd gesture. “It's what dildos are for. You stick them in a hole, any hole, and it makes you feel good."

"Wait. You masturbate?"

"Do you _not_ masturbate?" Mercedes asks worriedly.

"I've never-" Ingrid’s words trail off.

"Do you not know how?" She gasps with shock.

"I know how!" Ingrid sputters in response, face turning bright red.

"Are you sure, dear?"

"Yes!"

"I'm having trouble believing you."

"You don't have to believe me for it to be true!"

"See, the more defensive you get, the more I feel you're lying."

"I'm not lying!" Ingrid insists.

"How would you know if you've never tried it yourself?"

She caught them red handed. Still, Ingrid is too stubborn to back down from a fight.

"I'm friends with Sylvain. He's told me all his gross stories. I can put two and two together."

"I still don't think you know how."

"Do you need me to prove it to you?" Ingrid says almost too loudly. It echoes in the empty bathroom. They quickly cover their mouth to silence themselves.

A wicked grin spreads on Mercedes' face. She responds with her usual lilt, "Oh, I would love that!"

And suddenly, Ingrid is trapped between their intense competitiveness and their stubbornness. Mercedes eyes them as they contemplate their options. She has them cornered, yet, Ingrid does not mind at all. The burning between their legs becomes ever apparent.

"I'll show you," Ingrid promises her, "It's easy."

Nervousness takes over. They can feel Mercedes' eyes upon them, observing their every move. Part of it is thrilling, but mostly it is nerve-racking.

Now, Ingrid is left with the question of how to masturbate. Genuinely, they have no idea. The Garreg Mach was not exactly the best place for sex ed. The rusty gears in Ingrid's head turn as they try to think of how to approach this.

After a moment of thinking, Ingrid can come up with nothing. As much as Sylvain tells stories, he still has no grasp on most women's anatomy. Hell, he barely understands his own. Ingrid knows absolutely nothing when it comes to bringing themselves pleasure, and their friends are certainly no help.

"Ingrid?" Mercedes interrupts their intense thought process.

"I'm thinking!"

"Oh, honey. You don't know, do you?"

"I don't," Ingrid admits with a tired sigh.

"Let me teach you." Mercedes takes a step closer, still holding the dildo in her hand. "I'll be gentle."

"O-okay."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes. Please show me." Ingrid nods. A million thoughts run through their head. Their entire body burns with an unfamiliar feeling. They can't stand it. They need relief.

"I'll go first. You copy what I do," Mercedes instructs. She slides her pants back down and discards them.

Ingrid goes to do the same, but Mercedes stops her.

"Let me do this part."

"Okay." Ingrid repositions themselves so Mercedes can slide their pants off.

She takes her time doing so. Delicate fingers slip under the hem of Ingrid's pants and gently pull them down until they are at Ingrid's ankles. She sits down next to them.

"I want you to use your fingers. Like this." She slides her hand into her underwear.

"Like what? I can't see."

"Oh, right." Mercedes tosses her underwear off.

Ingrid immediately averts their eyes.

"Ingrid, you can look. That's the point."

"Right." Ingrid swallows nervously. Their eyes slowly move their gaze downward. Some invisible force keeps them from observing Mercedes in her bottomless glory. They fight it, and eventually see her half naked. It still doesn't feel right, but they cannot find the strength to look away. Mercedes is a magnet for their attention.

"Dip your fingers in to get them wet. It'll hurt if you're not wet." She demonstrates with three fingers.

Ingrid uses two. They confusedly dip their fingers inside their vagina. The feeling is odd. Not at all pleasurable. Oddly spongey. Still, it is gushingly wet. Ingrid has no idea why.

"Hurt? Why would it hurt?" They ask.

"Rubbing a dry clitoris hurts quite a bit. Too much friction. You can also use spit if you aren't properly aroused yet. I just assumed you are right now."

Everything Mercedes says sounds foreign. Ingrid stares at them blankly.

"I see," Ingrid says, not understanding at all.

"Wetness is very important. It means your body is happy and wants more."

"What is more?"

"The sex part."

"Okay. So what do I do now?"

"Do you know where your clitoris is?" Mercedes questions them.

"My what?

"Oh, no."

"Did I mess up already?" Ingrid suddenly grows worried. They feel as if they are failing a class they never signed up for.

"Not at all. We all learn at different paces. It's important to know your own anatomy. And everyone's is different. Let's see yours."

"What?"

"Ingrid, it's very important to me that you know where your own clitoris is. I can understand Sylvain now knowing, but you need to know.”

"Okay." Ingrid hesitantly takes off their underwear. The cold air hits them hard. It sends a shiver down their back. They immediately close their legs.

Mercedes moves closer so that their thighs are touching. "Open up. I won’t bite."

They obey the order. They slowly open their legs.

"The clitoris is on the front. It's covered by a hood, but becomes erect much like a penis can. They come in all sorts of sizes and looks, so don't worry about it too much. What matters is how it feels.”

For the first time in their entire life, Ingrid stares at their naked lower half. They examine between their legs, running their fingers through their pubic hair to find it.

"Lower, dear."

"Right." Ingrid ignores the burning in their cheek as they move their hand lower. Suddenly, they feel a jolt of stimulation. They let out an involuntary gasp. “Shit.”

"That's it. The most sensitive part of your body,” Mercedes says.

"What do I do now?"

"Rub it. Repeat after me."

Mercedes starts stroking herself. She dips her fingers in to get them wet before moving up to rub her clitoris. She starts slow, then moving faster. She puts her whole arm into it. Ingrid does the same, starting slow. They tentatively rub themselves. They are handsomely rewarded. The feeling is almost overwhelming. They stop.

"You'll get used to it," Mercedes says through a panted breath. She does not cease her own masturbating. "Go at your own pace. Or just watch me if you really want to.”

Or both. Ingrid prefers that option. They start again. The feeling hits them like lighting. It feels so good yet hurts at the same time. Tight knots form in their stomach that they so desperately want to get rid of. The frustration remains even when they stop again.

"Why does it feel like this?" Ingrid pants. Why are they already out of breath? Their hands twitch.

"That's how sex works. We wouldn't do it if it didn't feel good."

“It feels too good. I feel like I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Oh, Ingrid, honey, you deserve to feel good every once in a while.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.” Mercedes places a gentle hand on Ingrid’s thigh. “Keep touching yourself.”

Ingrid is not one to disobey an order. They continue stroking themselves, experimenting with different rhythms and pressures on their clit. Some feel good, some are overwhelming. Others just plain hurt. Their hips jerk as they hit a particularly sensitive spot. Finally, Ingrid settles into a pattern that their body can somewhat handle. Their wrist starts to burn, and the tension builds in their gut. Next to them, Mercedes does the same. She leans her head back and gazes at Ingrid. A stray strand of hair falls over her eyes. She looks tired yet blissful. Ingrid cannot help but find it cute.

“This is nice,” Mercedes says. She slows down her pace to match Ingrid's.

"We're masturbating next to each other in the dorm bathroom at three in the morning," Ingrid replies.

"Exactly. It's about the company."

"You never cease to amaze me, Mercedes."

"Yes. Keep talking. I'm really close." Her breath hitches. She squeezes Ingrid’s leg.

"Talking? About what?"

"Anything sexy."

Ingrid has no idea what is even considerably sexy, so they blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "I saw an opossum and a racoon fighting over an apple the other day."

"Really? What happened?" Mercedes asks curiously.

"The racoon ended up winning. It leapt from the top of a garbage can to slam the opossum into the ground. It was extremely impressive. For a while, though, I thought the opossum had the upper hand when it got the racoon into a chokehold. But what really sealed the deal was when the racoon socked the opossum right in the face for a knockout."

"That's breathtaking. I wish I were there to see it."

"I doubt you would see it again. The two seemed to have made up since. I caught them sharing the same apple together afterwards."

"That's adorable. That could be us."

"You want us to be an opossum and a racoon fighting over an apple?"

"Yes. Can you think of anything more romantic?" Mercedes says, "I would be the racoon, obviously. You're the- Oh, fuck." She gasps suddenly. Her body twitches, and she bites her lip. "Ingrid, hold my hand."

"What? Why?" Ingrid responds confusedly.

"Emotional support."

They take her hand. "Okay. Now what?"

"You're going to orgasm with me. I can't exactly describe the feeling, but you'll know when it happens."

"How do I orgasm?"

"Rub your clit harder. It's nice to start slow, but when you really need to make that last sprint, don't hold back," Mercedes instructs them.

"Don't hold back. Got it." Ingrid repeats her. They're on the edge of _something_ , but they have no idea what. The tension in Ingrid's body begs to be released. They move their hand as fast as they can possibly handle. All the while, they watch Mercedes. The woman next to them continues to pleasure herself. Her arm flails wildly. She moves her hips for added pressure. Ingrid tries to copy the motion. They feel ready to explode.

Suddenly, the dam bursts open. A wave of pleasure shocks Ingrid's whole body. They squeeze tight to Mercedes' hand as they buck uncontrollably. Tiny breathless gasps escape their body. The sensation is overwhelming, almost painful. It feels so _good_ ; Ingrid cannot get enough.

Mercedes moans with pure ecstasy. She does not hold back as she ravages her own body. Ingrid struggles to watch. Tears start to form. Finally, the high settles back down, and the adrenaline of their tryst turns back into exhaustion. Ingrid nearly melts into a puddle. Their arm feels numb, and their legs can barely move. Only a gentle burn remains as an afterthought between their legs.

"How did it feel?" Mercedes asks thoughtfully.

"Good." Is all Ingrid can manage.

Mercedes leans over and kisses them on the cheek. "You did a good job, Ingrid. I hope we can do this again soon."

"Yeah. Me too," they mumble. Suddenly, their eyes go wide with realization. "Wait. Again?"

She stands up and holds a hand out to Ingrid. "It's a lot more pleasurable with you next to me. I'm sure you'll find the same with these next coming weeks."

Ingrid doesn't like the implications, but they know Mercedes is right. "We'll see about that."

"And make sure you pee."

"Right."

With one last kiss, Mercedes leaves them to their own devices. The washroom feels much colder without her presence and certainly much quieter. Ingrid finishes cleaning their laundry and hangs it up to dry. They reach down, and instead of grabbing their clothes, their hand wraps around something hard. Ingrid looks down in horror to find themselves grasping Mercedes' dildo. That woman is much too forgetful. They sigh and bring it with them to return it. Or maybe she won't miss it for a night or two.


End file.
